Chapter 3 - The Mafia Boss Discovered My Best Friend Had Stolen His Messages—Then a Hospital Security Recording Exposed Her Deadliest LieThe first thing Vincent did was call the hospital.
Not his private security team.
Not an associate.
The hospital.
He asked to speak with Nell's attending physician and the security supervisor.
He identified himself, explained that threats had been made, and asked whether my sister was safe.
I sat beside him, barely breathing.
After several minutes, he handed me the phone.
"Marin?"
Dr. Whitcomb's voice came through.
I nearly collapsed with relief.
"Doctor?"
"Nell is safe."
I covered my mouth.
"Thank God."
She continued.
"An unauthorized visitor attempted to access the pediatric floor. Security stopped the person before they reached the patient rooms."
I began crying.
"Did Nell see anything?"
"No. She's resting."
I closed my eyes.
Dr. Whitcomb's voice softened.
"We've notified the police and reviewed the visitor list. You can come see her."
I looked at Vincent.
He nodded.
"We'll go."
I swallowed.
"Thank you."
After the call, I sat silently.
Vincent crouched beside me.
"Marin."
I looked up.
"She's safe."
I nodded.
He continued.
"You're going to see her."
I nodded again.
Then whispered, "Delia knew exactly how to hurt me."
Vincent's expression darkened.
I continued.
"She knew Nell was everything I had."
He took my hand.
"She doesn't get to use that anymore."
I wanted to believe him.
But twenty years of friendship had taught Delia where every weakness lived.
She knew the hospital schedule.
She knew my debts.
She knew how exhausted I was.
And she knew I'd sacrifice almost anything to keep Nell alive.
Vincent stood.
"Let's go."
I looked toward the door.
"What about Delia?"
His expression hardened.
"She's speaking with the police."
I swallowed.
"Will she tell them the truth?"
Vincent looked at me.
"I don't know."
Then he added, "But we won't depend on her honesty."
At St. Agnes, Nell was sitting upright in bed watching an old black-and-white movie.
When she saw me, she smiled.
"Marin!"
I hurried to her.
Held her carefully.
And cried into her hair.
She looked confused.
"What's wrong?"
I shook my head.
"Nothing."
She frowned.
"You're crying."
I laughed through tears.
"I'm just happy to see you."
She hugged me.
"You're weird."
I smiled.
"I know."
Then she noticed Vincent.
Her eyes widened.
"Who's that?"
I turned.
Vincent stood near the doorway.
He looked suddenly uncomfortable.
It was almost funny.
Chicago's most feared mafia boss could face armed men without blinking.
But one thirteen-year-old girl had apparently made him nervous.
I smiled.
"Nell, this is Vincent."
She studied him.
Then gasped.
"Wait."
I frowned.
"What?"
She pointed.
"Vincent Moretti?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
Her eyes widened.
"The shipping guy?"
Vincent smiled faintly.
"I suppose."
Nell looked at me.
"Why is the shipping guy here?"
I swallowed.
"He's a friend."
She looked between us.
Then grinned.
"A friend?"
I felt my face heat.
"Nell."
She laughed.
Vincent smiled.
For a moment, the room felt normal.
Then Nell looked at my stomach.
Her expression changed.
"Marin."
I froze.
She lowered her voice.
"Does he know?"
Vincent looked at me.
I stared at Nell.
"Know what?"
She rolled her eyes.
"About the baby."
Vincent's eyebrows rose.
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
I'd told Nell the moment I knew.
She'd cried.
Then laughed.
Then insisted she would be the world's best aunt.
Vincent looked at me.
I smiled weakly.
"Yes."
Nell turned toward him.
"Good."
He laughed softly.
"Good?"
She nodded seriously.
"Because Marin needs help."
My throat tightened.
"Nell—"
She continued.
"She works too much."
Vincent looked at me.
"I noticed."
Nell frowned.
"And she never buys herself anything."
I sighed.
"Okay."
"And she eats cereal for dinner."
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
I looked at him.
"Don't."
He smiled.
Nell continued.
"And she cries when she thinks I'm asleep."
The room went quiet.
My chest tightened.
Vincent looked at me.
I looked down.
Nell's voice softened.
"She thinks I don't know."
Tears filled my eyes.
I sat beside her.
"Nell."
She took my hand.
"I know you're scared."
I nodded.
She smiled sadly.
"But I'm still here."
I hugged her.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Vincent stepped quietly toward the window.
Giving us privacy.
That small gesture made me love him a little more.
Later, while Nell rested, Vincent met with the hospital administrator.
He offered to help arrange independent security through approved channels and asked whether there were financial assistance programs we hadn't been told about.
The administrator explained several options.
Charitable care.
Insurance appeals.
Specialist funding.
Patient advocacy services.
Vincent listened carefully.
Then asked for the relevant information.
I watched him.
He wasn't trying to buy my sister.
He was trying to understand how to help without taking control.
That mattered.
More than he knew.
By the following afternoon, police had identified the man who attempted to enter Nell's room.
His name was Derek Sloan.
He had worked for Sutton Vane on several occasions.
Investigators obtained messages connecting him to Sutton.
And Sutton's communications led directly to Delia.
The evidence was ugly.
Payment records.
Threatening messages.
Instructions to frighten me.
And a plan to force me into a vehicle after my shift.
Delia had wanted me gone.
Not necessarily because I threatened her relationship with Vincent.
But because I knew the truth.
I was pregnant with his child.
And she wasn't.
Vincent's attorney, Rachel Donovan, explained the situation in a private conference room.
"Delia has claimed to be pregnant," Rachel said.
I nodded.
"But there are inconsistencies."
Vincent leaned forward.
"What kind?"
Rachel opened a folder.
"Medical documents she provided appear altered."
My stomach tightened.
Vincent's expression hardened.
Rachel continued.
"We're not going to speculate about her health. But the documents themselves raise serious questions."
I swallowed.
"Why would she do that?"
Rachel looked at me.
"Money. Status. Access. Possibly all three."
I stared at the table.
Twenty years.
Twenty years of friendship.
Birthdays.
School dances.
Hospital visits.
Funerals.
And all of it had ended because Delia wanted a man who had once kissed me during a thunderstorm.
I felt sick.
Vincent reached for my hand.
I let him take it.
Rachel continued.
"There's another issue."
I looked up.
"What?"
She turned toward Vincent.
"Your communications were intercepted."
His expression changed.
"How?"
Rachel explained that someone with access to a former assistant's credentials had redirected messages and manipulated contact information.
Vincent's former assistant had been dismissed months earlier for unrelated misconduct.
Investigators were now examining whether that person had helped Delia.
I stared at Vincent.
"So you really tried to find me?"
He looked at me.
"Every day for weeks."
My throat tightened.
He continued.
"I went back to the hotel."
I stared.
"Why?"
He smiled sadly.
"Because I thought you might come back."
Tears filled my eyes.
He continued.
"I asked the staff whether they'd seen you."
I swallowed.
"What did they say?"
"Nothing useful."
He looked down.
"Then Delia appeared."
My chest tightened.
He continued.
"She said she knew you."
I nodded.
"She said you'd left Chicago."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Delia had known exactly what to say.
Vincent looked at me.
"She told me you wanted nothing to do with me."
I shook my head.
"No."
He squeezed my hand.
"I know that now."
I looked at him.
For a moment, I wanted to cry.
Then I wanted to scream.
Then I wanted to go back four months and stop myself from trusting Delia.
But I couldn't.
All I could do was face what came next.
That evening, Vincent asked whether I'd have dinner with him.
Not at his mansion.
Not at a private club.
At a quiet Italian restaurant near the river.
I hesitated.
"Nell—"
"Rosa is staying with her."
I frowned.
"Rosa?"
He smiled.
"My aunt."
I looked at him.
"Your aunt?"
He nodded.
"She volunteered after meeting Nell."
I smiled.
"Of course she did."
He leaned closer.
"Marin, I'm not asking you to move in."
I laughed softly.
"Good."
"I'm not asking you to marry me."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Also good."
He smiled.
"I'm asking whether you'd like to have dinner."
I looked at him.
Then nodded.
"Yes."
At the restaurant, we sat beside a window overlooking the river.
The city lights reflected on the water.
For a while, we talked about ordinary things.
Food.
Movies.
Nell.
The weather.
Then Vincent grew serious.
"Marin."
I looked up.
"Yes?"
"I need to tell you something."
My stomach tightened.
He took a breath.
"My life isn't simple."
I smiled faintly.
"I noticed."
He nodded.
"My businesses have attracted dangerous people."
I waited.
"And I've made choices I'm not proud of."
I looked at him.
He continued.
"I won't pretend otherwise."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, "What do you want from me?"
Vincent looked surprised.
I continued.
"Not what you can give me."
He nodded.
"What do you want?"
He considered the question.
Then answered quietly.
"A chance."
My heart tightened.
He continued.
"To know you."
I swallowed.
"To be part of our child's life."
I nodded.
"And maybe, if you want it, to build something with you."
I stared at him.
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
Not powerful.
Not intimidating.
Just a man asking whether a woman might let him into her life.
I took a breath.
"Vincent."
He looked at me.
"I don't know what happens next."
He nodded.
"Neither do I."
I smiled.
"But I'd like to find out."
His expression softened.
He reached across the table.
I took his hand.
And for the first time since the storm, I allowed myself to believe we might have a future.
Then my phone rang.
It was Dr. Whitcomb.
I answered immediately.
"Doctor?"
Her voice was serious.
"Marin, we need to discuss Nell's latest test results."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
She paused.
Then said, "Her condition has changed."
May you like
I stopped breathing.
And just when I thought the worst was behind us, I realized our greatest battle was still ahead.
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